


The Importance of Procrastination

by FutureMrsWatson



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Human, Anal Sex, Crack, Crack Narrator, Fluff, Humor, M/M, Oral Sex, Smut, stisaac - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-09
Updated: 2014-07-09
Packaged: 2018-02-08 02:50:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,324
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1923924
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FutureMrsWatson/pseuds/FutureMrsWatson
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stiles goes to the bar and leaves with a ridiculously hot man who does things to him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Importance of Procrastination

**Author's Note:**

> Infinite love to [AnneinColor](http://anneincolor.tumblr.com/) for her actual wealth of patience and helping me sort this all out, and to [ pictures-to-prove-it](http://pictures-to-prove-it.tumblr.com/) for being an excellent cheerleader and a leader in the blowjay profession. 
> 
> I flail all over tumblr at [FutureMrsWatson](http://futuremrswatson.tumblr.com/)

It was a dark and stormy night.

Just kidding. It was a regular Friday night, and Stiles was sitting at his stupid cramped desk doing the same freaking thing he did every night- trying to take over the world! Ugh, he shook his head vigorously, attemptingto re-focus his brain on the actual items of business he needed to handle, before he downward spiraled into the breathless, sweaty, fistful-of-jizzed mess that he was virtually guaranteed to be in- he looked at the clock- ok, two hours.

He must have somehow fallen into some sort of weird, like, science-fiction-style time vortex though, because at 8pm he checked his facebook for a very important thing about waffles, and shut up, it was actually really important, but then???? something happened to the planet, probably, and suddenly it was the future. Like, an hour into the future. And his freaking phone was loudly singing, “I’m so fancy!” at him, because Scott was seriously the biggest douche.

“What up.”

Scott’s voice was masked by the sound of _terrible_ live music, but it didn’t hide the smile Stiles heard when he said ,”Dude, you are not that cool. Like ever. Stop masturbating and come to the Halftime tonight.”

“What. I was not. You don’t even know. Just. Yeah ok, I’ll be there in like twenty.”

(Because, screw homework, am I right?)

Stiles put on his “hoes in different area codes” t-shirt, which was literally like the funniest shirt ever because it had like, actual farming equipment on it. It was a play on words, and if people didn’t appreciate that, well, that was on them. He threw a plaid button up over it, because get it? Farmers wear plaid too.

The Halftime was the worst/best bar in the city, being full of very tragic old drunk men, equally tragic young drunk men, and literally the only place to go if you wanted to play pool at an affordable rate. Which he did. He found Scott at the bar, making eyes at the bartender who was literally the most uninterested woman in the entire world- obviously, because she totally was in love with Stiles. He sidled up giving her his best wry smile. “How’s your night, Lydia?”

She instantly rolled her eyes, which was fine, because frankly her eyes were probably his favorite feature, so. Thanks for showcasing them.

He ordered a Jack and Coke ( _seems masculine enough…_ ) and spotted an empty pool table in the far corner. As much as he wanted to stay and let Lyds feast her eyes on him, when you spot an empty table, you gotsta go! Some loud douches were playing at the table nearest them, freaking clanging beer cans and like, all kinds of idiot stuff like, _what? Why are you even doing that???_  He and Scott exchanged looks, then rock-paper-scissored to see who broke. It ended up being a tie like six times, which was embarrassing, but when you’re bros, you’re bros. Finally, Scott pulled a rabbit out of the hat, and Stiles had to give it to him. The break that is.

The thing about Scott was that he’s such a freaking pre-teen and would literally try to make friends with everyone. Like the beer can crushing dodobirds at the table next door. I mean, yeah, they were hella fine with literally muscles like, well, all over their bodies, _obviously_ , but like hot rippling muscles that stood out of their v-neck t-shirts ( _Oh. They were wearing v-necks. Definitely douches._ ) and ok, so their faces were like OH GOD and Stiles had to finish his drink before he forgot where he was. Scott looked over at him and winked.

GO TO HELL, SCOTT.

Regardless, when it was Stiles’ turn, he was feeling super conscious of the placement of his booty, and arched his back probably a few more degrees than necessary. Like forty-five degrees or pi-fourths radians, depending on which units you prefer _._ He took his shot, and since he and Scott were actual terrible pool players, he knocked a few in with his hand as well. It’s tradition.

Scott had run back to the bar to get some more alcohol, so Stiles stood as coolly as he could, leaning on his cue and pretending to watch the game on the small TV that was like, at least fifty feet away. He glanced at the douchetable, for just a moment and- _what_. Ummmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm…

Yeah, the guy who looked exactly like the hottest guy you’ve ever seen in your life, was looking. At him. He was like, if Jesus Christ himself had looked into Stiles’ brain and was like, “Ok so you like tall men with cheekbones like _what_ , and hair that’s all moppish, and kind of gangly but would be like ohhhh myyyy goodddddd whyyyyy if he wore glasses, which, oh look, I’m Jesus, so he does wear glasses now, but only for reading, so you can see his sleepy green-gray-blue eyes the rest of the time- and muscles? And a mouth like sin? and-” Stiles had to break out of his reverie because freaking Scott was gaping at him.

And then there was a lot of throat clearing and eyebrows and _just_.

Scott took his shot, and then pushed a few more in the pocket, and at that point the dudes at the other table were just flat out staring at them. I mean, probably it was because of their insanely good looks (fine, moderately decent looks,) but it’s possible that they just were like, “what the hell are these two fools even doing?” But it hardly mattered because Stiles was pretty sure Scott had half a chub for the other guy, who was literally as hot as the sun, like, if carbon were to touch this guy it would just turn into plasma, _like how are his clothes even working right now ???_

Their game was over fairly quickly, as their games usually were, considering their “technique.” As they racked their cues, the man (the one that Jesus made to taunt Stiles) sauntered over to them. Probably he was the only guy in the whole world who could saunter and not look like a douche. Wait. No, he was definitely still a douche, but now suddenly Stiles was immune to douchery or something.

“You guys are good.” His voice was quieter than Stiles had expected, but no irony was lost despite his volume. Stiles looked desperately over his shoulder for Scott, but naturally Scott was just easy as pie having a conversation with the Man from the Sun who was also supposedly called Derek.

Self pep-talk time: _Stiles. This man is coming on to you. You need to put your beautiful bodies together. Be brave. Be ballsy. Do not squeak. DO NOT SQUEAK._

He cleared his throat. “We have a lot of practice handling balls.”

Scott jerked his head in Stiles’ direction, while Derek merely raised a perfect eyebrow at him. The angel in front of him, however, held out a hand. “I’m Isaac. Maybe you can show me a thing or two?”

Scott and Derek discovered they had a class together (British lit, what nerds) and decided their time would be better spent huddled in a corner discussing the finer points of Arthur Conan Doyle’s Sherlock Holmes series, acting strangely giddy about the whole situation.

Stiles decided to be a gentleman (BAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA) and let Isaac break. They fell into an easy groove: Stiles tried his best to look like he knew what he was doing, and Isaac went easy on him.

“No, you have it all wrong!” Stiles laughed as he tried to show Isaac a “new, cool” move he had made up. “See, you have to actually caress the ball. YOU GOT TO CARESS IT, BRO.”

“Oh, I do it like this?” Isaac played along nicely. He scooped two balls from the table, and rolled them easily around in one hand, earning a _look_ from Lydia. Both boys straightened their backs and put on their most serious faces, but Lydia had the faintest hint of a smile tugging her lips as she turned away from them, shaking her head.

“She’s hot,” Isaac astutely observed.

Stiles grinned. “She loves me.” He grabbed three balls from the table, “Think you’re good with two balls? Look at these mad ball skills.” He tossed one, two, three balls in the air, juggling them with ease. “See that? Hah. Hahaha. Bet you can’t do that.”

Unfortunately, Isaac was unable to top that, though, because Lydia’d had _enough_ , and Stiles scrambled away from her as she approached, hiding behind Isaac’s broad shoulders.

“Can you boys please go knock your own balls together, like, somewhere else?” She threw in a wink. “Take pics, too.”

Chastened, they gave up their table, and as they put away their supplies, Isaac said, “I’m starving. Let’s get some onion rings.”  

Obviously, Stiles agreed, because there is no one in the world who does not want onion rings at any given moment. Stiles motioned to Derek and Scott to come eat with them (a ridiculous game of charades between Stiles and Scott) but they were all adorable puppy faces at each other and decided to “take off,” which, _everyone_ knows is code for, “Yeah, we’re gonna do the sex. Byeeeeeeeeeeee.”

Stiles and Isaac found a table near the door, and over a shared basket of terrifically greasy onion rings, initiated the familiar song and dance that is, “Hey, so should we definitely bone or no?”

Isaac offered a crooked smile, a wayward curl falling across his eye, and Stiles was immediately struck by how different he seemed sitting across from him, their legs threaded together under the table, all bony knees and big feet- what happened to that cocky douche Stiles had seen when he walked in?

“So...You come here often?” Stiles asked, feeling freaking stupid, but also like, completely awesome considering he was bumping thighs with the hottest guy in the room.

Isaac lazily rolled his eyes, but he offered a sincere reply: “Derek thinks I don’t get out enough- he suggested a guys’ night out. I don’t think either of us knew what to do when you and your friend walked in.”

Stiles’ mouth was agape, "You didn’t know what to do?! You could literally have done anything. You could have literally just started taking off your clothes and spraying ketchup all over the place, and Scott and I would have been like, ‘Ok yeah.’ You could have started clanging your beer cans all everywhere like a perfect impersonation of the hugest douches you ever met, and Scott and I would still have been down for anything.” He threw quick wink at Isaac and watched as the color slowly crept up his neck, and Stiles instantly felt guilty, “I’m just busting your balls, man.”

Isaac, however, was no wilting flower, as it turned out. He leaned back in his seat, stretched his arms out across the back of the booth, enough muscles on display to make a nun go, “whaaaaa-waaaannnnt” and gently pressed his knee into Stiles’ groin. “ _Anything_ , you say?”

 

Stiles obediently took his turn to flush, then steered the conversation to a safer topic. “So, what do you do, man? Are you going to school here or something?”

Over the next thirty minutes, Stiles learned all kinds of hot and awesome things about Isaac, like for instance, he was a graduate chemistry student (Jesus!), he lived with two horrible roommates, and he played soccer for the school team. The way his eyes lit up and his face became animated when talking about his student research had Stiles reeling. How could this man be so ridiculously attractive, smart, and sporty and _just_. It was like this was not even reality, but like, someone’s fantasy dude and he just happened to have had the good fortune of being in the right place at the right time.

Stiles had stars in his eyes by the time Lyds brought the check (with a knowing smirk), and he ushered Isaac out the door as quickly as humanly possible, praising the sweet baby Jesus that Isaac had offered to take him home, because he needed to be all up in that like ASAP.

They were barely in Isaac’s car before Stiles was reaching over the gear shift, grabbing that ridiculous jawline and pulling it toward his mouth. To his surprise, however, Isaac was deceptively aggressive. Isaac may have appeared demure, but OMGWTFYEASSS?!!!!! at his reaction to Stiles’ bold move- he pushed back with the hunger of a man who literally had not been fed in like three days, definitely not the hunger of a man who ate, like, most of a basket of onion rings not even fifteen minutes previous, which, in hindsight, Stiles realized maybe wasn’t the World’s Best Idea, but _just_. Ok, Stiles, seriously, get with the program.

Isaac climbed over the center console, and even though their two long bodies did not fit comfortably in the passenger seat (“Oof!” “Ow.” “Jesus Christ!”), the way that Isaac rolled his hips on Stiles’ lap and ghosted his name over his ear was doing all kinds of crazy brain things inside his head.

This was not a good thing.

Stiles _could not_ have sex with this freaking _god_ of a man in the parking lot of the freaking _Halftime_ , just no no no. He held on to Isaac’s hips as he rolled, and maybe his thoughts flew out of his brain a time or twelve but he managed to lean into Isaac’s ear and breathe, “Home. NOW.”

Isaac leaned his head back and heaved a slow sigh. The long column of his neck was a traitor to Stiles’ resolve, though, and he leaned forward to slowly kiss up the pale, exposed throat. While Stiles gently paved slow, wet kisses up to his ear, Isaac somehow managed, “Show me the way.” Stiles literally screamed. Like, mentally.

The ride to Stiles’ apartment was interminable. It was that god damn time vortex again, Stiles was pretty sure. He nervously bounced his knee in anticipation, until Isaac put on the Snakes on a Plane soundtrack and they rocked out to Cobra Starship, because how could you not?

After a million years, they finally arrived, and Stiles practically dragged Isaac by his gangly arm up the stairs to his door. He fumbled to get the key in, (OF COURSE, JESUS CHRIST!) and it did not help that Isaac was running his hands up Stiles’ sides, leaning over his shoulder to gently suck the lobe of Stiles’ ear and he instantly forgot what the he was even doing or what even is his life???? Finally, he jammed the key in and the door swung open. The boys stumbled in, hands all pushing and pulling, mouths frantically seeking skin.

Stiles was not all about delayed gratification. He immediately scrambled to remove both his shirts and watched in amazement as Isaac’s hungry eyes roved his half-naked body. Just, HOW? He sucked his gut in, hoping to achieve some minute level of muscular definition in anticipation of the goodies Isaac was hiding under his douchetastic deep v-neck, which, from here on out will no longer be considered douchey, but actually insanely hot.

Isaac’s face while watching Stiles disrobe was pretty hard to read, but Stiles felt like it was somewhere between “Uhhhhhh.” and “Yuuuussss.” which was kind of ironic because that’s what he had been hoping for when he finally got Isaac all nudie-booty. Stiles quickly covered the distance between them, his hands reaching out to grasp the hem of Isaac’s shirt and unveil his prize.

“IT’S A BRAND NEW CARRRRR!!!” Bob Barker’s voice rang through Stiles’ brain as he lifted Isaac’s shirt, and he quickly shoved that image aside to study the lean lines of Isaac’s actually perfect body.  His shoulders were broad, and he had a tattoo of an anchor on his chest, which Stiles desperately hoped to himself had some sort of meaning beyond, “dude, anchors are awesome.” His arms were lean and covered in fine, light hair, and when Stiles leaned in to kiss him, he gently scratched his fingertips up those arms, miles and miles and miles up to Isaac’s shoulders, and into the curly mess of hair that lay on that perfect head.

Stiles was generally not the most confident man, but he had a real knack for faking it when necessary- and this definitely called for a little faking it, because there is just no way in hell he had any right to be this close to Isaac (like, what?????). He was not the type of guy that just gets to touch people who looked like they could actually be made out of marble, but since he happened to be defying the laws of the universe, he decided to roll with the punches. He pulled Isaac’s mouth toward his own and planted a slow, steamy kiss on his perfectly bowed lips. He watched as Isaac’s eyes gently fluttered closed, and he could sense Isaac losing himself in the moment. Stiles opened the kiss- he masterfully sucked Isaac’s lower lip and softly dragged teeth across the pink flesh, then gently flicking his tongue along the tip of Isaac’s, forced a lusty sigh to escape the back of Isaac’s throat. He ran his hands down Isaac’s back, lightly scraping his fingernails all the way down to the base of his spine, then gripped his hips and pulled him forward to nudge a knee between his legs.

Stiles lost track of his thoughts at that moment, and reveled in the sensations that Isaac was raining down on him- the roll and grind of his hips against Stiles’ leg. The desperate cling of Isaac’s hands to Stiles’ face, his fingers pressed tightly to his jaw, he seemed hungry and wanting and begging for more. The hitch and whine in Isaac’s breath was loud,  then soft, then slowly he eased his mouth away and softly pressed kisses to the sides of Stiles’ mouth, chin, and throat. Stiles buried his face in Isaac’s neck while Isaac gently moved his tongue along the lobe of his ear.

Stiles felt the press of the wall against his back, and he was only mildly surprised that his feet had been moving at all, his body just willingly moving in time with Isaac’s, as lost as he was in the fervor of Isaac’s need. He resisted the urge to fangirl-flail, _probably_ , as Isaac’s hands moved down his chest, massaged over his nipples and slid slowly down his sides to his waist; Isaac ran his hands down under the lip of his underwear and finally worked his mouth back to Stiles’. They shifted gears in time, instantly frantic and needing- their mouths open wide against each other, chasing tongues and tugging hair and gasping breath, and when Isaac finally broke away, Stiles was left panting and disoriented. He pulled his eyes up Isaac’s lean body, paused to admire the jeans slung low on his hips, Calvin Klein boxer briefs peeking out from beneath acid washed blue fabric. Perfect abs with soft hair snuck a trail down toward the straining bulge that- Stiles’ mouth went dry, and he forced himself to continue his slow ascent  to those gray eyes.

Isaac’s lips were parted, his mouth shallowly sucking air and his eyes, bright and questioning, searched Stiles’ face for… _???_ Stiles remembered he couldn’t read people’s minds, so instead he lunged forward and quickly thumbed the button of Isaac’s jeans open, needing desperately to free the erection, to see it, to touch it, to mouth it, to feel its press on the back of his throat, to feel Isaac’s release, to just do _something_. He made quick work of Isaac’s ridiculous jeans and tossed them aside, then dropped to his knees, grateful for once that his awkward height made him perfect for Isaac-blowing (Hah! YES!) His eyes hungrily devoured the feast laid before him, and he greedily pawed Isaac’s ass before he finally swallowed Isaac’s perfect erection in one swift gulp. Isaac cried out and his fists flew to clench in Stiles’ hair.

Stiles was frantic to worship this man’s breathtaking cock, thick and heavy and tasting of salty skin and sweet, slick precum. He pulled back slowly- tried to draw out the moment and pace himself - _might bowl the poor guy over coming at him like a spider monkey and all_. It pained him to restrain himself enough to grip the solid base of Isaac’s erection, but he was immediately grateful for his foresight because, as he lapped the underside of the _spectacular_ specimen, he was able to glance up and see the look of near hysteria Isaac was wearing.

( _Eheheheheheheh._ )

Stiles pulled away with a filthy sounding pop to wink up at him. “What’s going on, big fella?”

“Could you give a guy a little warning or something?!” Isaac practically whined at him.

Stiles shrugged, then gave Isaac a wicked grin. “You better hold on tight!”

“You are the worst pers-ohhhhhhhhhhhhhh..” Isaac’s insult was cut off by the wet press of Stiles’ mouth to his balls. He gently circled his tongue around the soft terrain and moved his fist along the entire length of his shaft,  stopping to thumb the wet slit at the head of the erection. Isaac’s hips stuttered, his body seeking friction in spite of the protest. Stiles fought to contain himself, his own hardness pressing uncomfortably against the zip of his jeans, his need to feel Isaac’s orgasm so fierce that his mind screamed at him _OMG GET THAT DICK IN YOUR MOUTH JESUS CHRIST PLEASE WHAT ARE YOU DOING_!!

Stiles held out for a few minutes longer, his dark eyes pointed up at Isaac’s perfect face, mouth slack ( _ragged breath oh god_ ) eyes glazed, but he was watching every Stiles’ every move: he watched as Stiles languidly sucked and licked each testicle in turn, watched Stiles’ hand firmly pulled the spit-slick cock as it dripped it’s sweet juices down Stiles’ muscular forearm. He watched as Stiles switched hands, then in one fluid movement, took the length of Isaac’s hardness in his mouth- Stiles finally giving in to the mad desire to taste him. With one last flick of his eyes to Isaac’s, he wrapped his mouth around the needy prick with a loud, wanton moan.

“Jesus Christ, Stiles. JESUS.” Isaac’s voice was two full octaves higher than usual, and his fingers combed frantically through Stiles’ hair.

Stiles’ life literally flashed before his eyes. When he slowly bobbed down on the delicious prick, Isaac’s response was a tentative thrust. The sound of Isaac’s heavy breathing, the press of his dick to the back of Stiles’ throat, and the peak of desperation in Isaac’s low, nonsensical mutterings pushed Stiles to work faster,cheeks hollowed. Isaac’s hips faltered. The urgency of his motion was overwrought with the promise of release, throwing Stiles into a frenzy. He clutched the cheeks of Isaac’s perfect ass, trying to ground himself, and the two boys fell into a manic sort of rhythm, Isaac wildly pushing and pulling, as Stiles’ mouth frenetically sought more, more, more. His hands were on a quest to feel all of the skin; they settled nowhere and he fought back the empty feeling that he had never touched enough.

It seemed an eternity and yet a moment when Isaac’s hips finally gave that last, involuntary thrust and Stiles’ brain winked out. He shamelessly swallowed everything Isaac had to give. He eased his head back slowly, gently cleaning off any runaway come with his tongue, and pressed a chaste kiss to the tip of Isaac’s rapidly waning erection.

He leaned back on his heels, painfully aware that his decidedly-un-godlike body was on display and winced at the tightness in his own pants, but tried desperately to appear composed; he couldn’t actually do that in a normal situation, so the effect was a bit spasmodic, but it was definitely a valiant effort.

“Did you just follow me home so I could blow you?” He tried again, this time successfully oozing self-confidence and offering a cocky sideways smile.

Isaac’s lips were maddening, his hair all kinds of disheveled, and he stared at Stiles with those bedroom eyes like he had never seen him before. “I just realized you are an awful, awful person,” he said, with a - was that a hint of _mischief_?

Stiles’ smirk faltered as his brain fell out of his butt.

“Yes.” Isaac continued, “You are nothing but trouble.” He slowly advanced on Stiles, his cheeks still flushed, his eyebrow quirked, his gaze traveling the length of Stiles’ body.

_What. Wait. Where was he? Who was? What._

Stiles could not sort his thoughts out as Isaac, AKA the Hottest Man of Life, descended on him, his feigned confidence completely levelled, and he was reduced to an actual puddle of burning desire. Isaac softly pushed Stiles onto his back easily slotting one leg between Stiles’ two, and came to rest on his elbow, chin on fist, beside him.

“You know something about chemists, Stiles?” his mouth formed the words slowly, and Stiles was hypnotized by the movement of his lips as the sound spilled out. Isaac didn’t wait for him to respond (probably a good idea since Stiles was floating on a bubble somewhere far, far away.) “We are reaaaaaaaalllllly patient. We can work on particularly _hard_ problems for hooours, if we need to.” He pointedly stared into Stiles’ eyes, and pulled his lower lip between his teeth.

Stiles was paralyzed with want. Thoughts flitted randomly in and out of his consciousness _(is it pants-off time? Should we get a burrito? I think I’m religious now? I’m Ron Burgundy?_ ).

Isaac tiptoed his fingers along Stiles’ arm, across his chest, lay his palm flat on his stomach, then stilled. He leaned in close enough for Stiles to feel his breath on his ear and said, oh-so-quietly, “What say you, handsome boy? Got any problems I can help you work out?”

Stiles stared at the ceiling, and managed to croak, “Dude, are you freaking kidding me with that mad game? That is just not even fair.”

Isaac dropped his head into Stiles’ shoulder and let out a soft snicker. “Can you just shut up and let me seduce you, for Christ’s sake?”

Stiles turned to grin at him, and when they locked eyes, it was exceedingly apparent that they were both enormous goons- grinning and giggling and wrapped up in each other in the entryway of Stiles’ apartment. “Yes, fine. You can seduce me, but first, I need you to do a thing.”

Isaac eyed him suspiciously, not noticing as Stiles snuck his phone from his pocket.

“Say, ‘cheese!’” His voice rang out merrily, and Isaac turned just in time to be the star of Stiles’ obnoxious selfie. “Proof.” He beamed with pride.

 

 

 

Isaac groaned, then rolled heavily on top of him; he pressed Stiles’ back into the ground and hungrily sucked his lip, effectively wiping the smile right off his face. When Isaac rolled his hips, Stiles bucked back without hesitation, his exhale rough, as his hands traveled to Isaac’s waist and grasped the bones jutting out on either side.

“Jesus, why do you have so many clothes on?!” Isaac complained, and Stiles’ reply was a pathetic whimper: “I don’t knowwwwwww.”

Isaac looked up, offering a positively devilish crooked smile, and proclaimed, “Ah. Well, this is definitely a _problem_.” He moved his mouth down Stiles’ chin, along his smooth, freckled jaw, sloooooowly working his way to his neck. He stopped to press soft, wet kisses on the exposed throat, blew gently on the damp skin and watched the goose bumps rise, then licked them away again. He took a long detour to Stiles’ collarbone, ghosting his mouth over the ridge of his clavicle and nibbled softly. Stiles rewarded him with a low moan, then arched his back up, pushing his body back up to meet Isaac’s mouth. Isaac’s hands roamed Stiles’ chest, having paused for a  moment to thumb his nipples, and finally he looked up to witness that glorious throat tipped back, listening as heavy breaths made a gloriously low rumble in Stiles’ chest.

Isaac crawled further down Stiles’ body, his hands smoothed over hard abs, his mouth hungrily tasted the skin as he moved until finally he reached Stiles’ belt, where he observed Stiles’ already-quite-hard cock attempting to break free of its denim cage. He maneuvered the belt-and-button situation quickly, and as Stiles’ fingers carded through his hair, a new heat unfurled in Isaac’s belly- his resolve to leisurely undo the man beneath him began to crumble. He paused. He pressed his forehead Stiles’ stomach, and exhaled humid air through the fabric of Stiles’ cotton briefs. He willed his breathing to even, his heart to stop pounding, feeling certain he had only one chance to leave his impression on this vibrant, sarcastic, sexy, wildly addictive creature.

“Waste not, want not.” Isaac thought to himself, and he proceeded to slowly relieve Stiles of his clothes, as Stiles shamelessly surged upward seeking contact.

“Ah-ah-ahhhhh.” Isaac teased, and Stiles threw an arm over his eyes with a loud protest.

“You are ruuuuuude,” he whined.

Isaac planted slow kisses up Stiles’ thigh and thumbed slow circles around the jut of his hips. He lost himself in the heat and press of Stiles’ cock, the heady scent of Stiles’ desire filling his nostrils. He relished in the feel of his tongue against Stiles’ smooth skin, as he dragged it slowly from thigh to belly button, stopping here and there to noisily lay claim to the man with his mouth. When he finally reached his destination, he lifted his head to see Stiles’ flushed face looking back down at him.

“What do you want?” Isaac hoarsely intoned, intoxicated by Stiles' pink cheeks, swollen lips, dark eyes. Stiles gripped his hand and hauled him back up to his mouth releasing frantic, open-mouthed kisses all over Isaac’s face. Isaac sighed heavily, this tornado of a man absolutely wreaking havoc on his best laid plans- he _loved_ it.

The deluge of kisses stopped, abruptly. Stiles caught Isaac’s gaze and his voice cracked as he said, “Yeah, I think you should probably fuck me.”

Isaac looked at him, stricken. “Are you sure?”

“Yeah, like… now? Now would be good. Right now.”

“...Please.” Stiles added as an afterthought.

“Uhhh…” Isaac couldn’t hide his grin, “Absolutely.”

Stiles scrambled to his feet and darted off to a room in the back of the apartment, looking absolutely ridiculous, naked but for mismatched socks and bouncing erection. Isaac heard slamming, cursing, and finally a triumphant yelp of joy. He chuckled to himself as he imagined the scene, then looked up as he heard Stiles re-enter the room. His mouth went slack as he approached, his normally ordered thoughts completely scrambled- in that moment, Stiles was a vision of perfection: strong, tanned calves giving way to hard muscular thighs, lean abs covered in fine, dark hair, broad chest, shoulders maybe a bit too wide for his otherwise slight frame, his face alight with wonder as he watched Isaac study him.

Stiles approached and sunk to his knees, his face surprisingly tender. “Have you done this before?” He quietly asked. Isaac licked his lips gingerly and nodded, adding, “Not in a long time, though.”

Relieved, Stiles’ face returned to its normal smug smile. “Dude, that is perfect,” he said “I’m a little rusty, but I need you inside me in the _worst_ way.”

Stiles promptly flicked open the lid of the lube he had brought out- mostly used- and smeared it on his own fingers, warming it up before he leaned back on his knees. He propped his weight on one elbow and deftly inserted one finger inside himself: a deliberate show for Isaac’s benefit, and one that worked insanely well. Isaac reached forward to grip Stiles’ poor, neglected cock, gave it a slow, solid pull, and was rewarded with a loooooong moan that sent a shock straight to the balls. Stiles gently bounced on a second finger while Isaac, panting, began to tug a rhythm to Stiles’ pace.

Isaac’s own erection pulled needily toward Stiles, and Isaac reached to slide his long fingers in the hole Stiles was so greedily keeping to himself. Stiles slowly pulled his fingers out, ever the showman, and teased Isaac, “Oh, I’m sorry- was I in your way? Go right ahead.”

“It would be my pleasure,” Isaac ground out.

Isaac gently pressed one slick finger into the sweet, begging asshole, and lazily stroked Stiles’ length. Stiles let out a loud huff of air, his legs spread to encourage Isaac to push another finger in. Isaac swirled and stretched, seeking the soft nub inside that would be Stiles’ undoing. When he finally brushed up against the sweet spot, Stiles let out a low stream of mostly unintelligible curses: “Holy shhhhhiiiii- ahhhhhhhhhh my godddddddddddd Isaaaaaac…!”

Isaac took that as a good time to flip Stiles over, and while Stiles scrambled to make himself available to Isaac, he stroked himself, quickly rolling on one of the condoms Stiles had supplied, then spread lube along his own length. He relished the glorious view of Stiles’ perfect ass ready for him, his balls hanging heavy and low between his legs, longing for release. Stiles’ head was ducked down beneath his shoulder blades, his back heaving, waiting.

He drew his nails along Stiles’ back, and heard a whimper escape Stiles’ perfect mouth. His own erection fogging his thoughts, he quickly moved to massage Stiles’ ass, and as he reached to spread the cheeks and press a thumb into the wet entrance, a positively pornographic moan rang out from the man below him. He slowly breached Stiles with one, two, three fingers, and with as much control as he could muster, stretched the hole, preparing Stiles for the girth of his dick.

“Ohhhh my godddddd, get inside of me already!” Stiles’ plea was music to Isaac’s ears as he finally pressed the head of his cock into Stiles’ ass. His vision went fuzzy with the warm, wet tightness that engulfed his dick. “All the way,” Stiles breathed, and Isaac needed no further commands. He eased his entire length in, stopping to collect himself as his breath stuttered out, then slowly pulled back. He watched the entire scene as if he was sitting on a cloud, Stiles’ body so perfect and inviting. As he pushed back in, Stiles’ voice broke through the haze, throaty and wild, “Oh my fucking god, Isaac… You are a fucking angel. Jeeeeeeeeeeeeeeesus christ...never stop... please never stop…”

“Holy shit, you feel so good,” Isaac uttered. Despite the quiet intonation, Stiles bucked back, his body completely in tune with Isaac’s, then dropped down to his elbows. The change in angle allowed Isaac to push even deeper, and with that, Isaac finally expended the last of his self control. He gripped tightly to Stiles’ hips, pumping furiously as Stiles cried out loudly for a slew of holy entities ( _Buddha??!_ ) his forehead pressed to the floor, while his fists clenched the air uselessly above his head.

Isaac came hard, his vision pinpointing, his cry puncturing the air, a short, “ _Sti-les!_ ” then immediately slowed his pace. He leaned over Stiles’ back to cover the lean muscles in wet kisses; Stiles’ skin tasted salty and Stiles sucked breath in loudly, then cried out, “Don’t stop… please don’t stop…do not stop... I will die if you stop, do not stop…” Isaac kept himself pressed into Stiles’ back, but ground a leisurely figure eight with his hips- the urgency of his desire had faded, but the need to undo Stiles approached infinity. As he moved, he reached around those narrow hips to the straining erection Stiles was sporting, and Stiles, insanely responsive to his touch, sucked air hard between clenched teeth.

Isaac’s hand, still slick with lube, slid back and forth over the head, thumbed the ridge of his frenulum (marveling at Stiles’ actual _magnificence_ ,) and pulled a steady pace; Stiles’ pleasure was apparent with every sigh, with every moan, with every muscle moving to oppose Isaac, all friction and lust and heat and sweat and muffled cries. When he finally let loose the orgasm that had built up for so long, he erupted a string of sounds that Isaac only barely understood.

The warm come streamed freely across Isaac’s hand, up Stiles’ chest, first in long jets, then slowing to short spurts. Isaac gently stroked him through the bliss, still laying kisses across his broad back, until finally both boys slumped, exhausted. Isaac eased out and away from Stiles’ ass, Stiles groaning for the loss, and they lay facing each other propped on hips and elbows- Stiles caressing Isaac’s side and hazily smiling in his direction.

As he trailed his fingers along Isaac’s ridiculously hot, muscular obliques, he breathed out, “Holy shit, you are the most amazing person I have ever known, ever, in my life. Jesus.”

Isaac could not hide his smile. “Hmmmm.” he hummed, closing his eyes. “I think that you are also really, really amazing.” He could not admit out loud that Stiles’ amazingness was actual Universal Law.

“You are literally more seductive than a black hole.” Stiles grinned at his pun, and Isaac was pretty sure he was in love with this huge nerd-man, perfect and hot and a bit like a hummingbird in human form.

They lay on the itchy carpet for a million years, legs intertwined, eyes closed while their hands gently explored the unique curves of each other’s bodies, until Stiles could not ignore his grumbling stomach anymore. He rolled on his back, straining to see the clock on the microwave, ( _4 am, what??!_ ) and defeated, “Hey, so. You want to get a burrito? I have like an insane craving for a burrito, like?? I don’t know. Your cock makes me want burritos. I hope that’s not weird.”

Isaac was into it. “Yeah dude. Burritos necessary.”


End file.
